


our half-lit silences

by bookhobbit



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 10:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5371991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookhobbit/pseuds/bookhobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Childermass has an bad day, to say the least, and Norrell helps him. Fill for a kink meme prompt requesting exploration of the repercussions of Childermass's gunshot wound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our half-lit silences

**Author's Note:**

> OP wanted to see Childermass experiencing some anxiety/having a panic attack due to his injury. I do have anxiety myself but not trauma-induced so let me know if anything seems off. I also didn't really get a chance to deal with the full repercussions; it's more like a snippet. 
> 
> It gets pretty fluffy at the end. Also, as I said on the kink meme, the unofficial title is "in which Norrell is actually a good husband for once". Also this is set in the context of Norrell with anxiety and autism, so he has meltdowns and anxiety episodes, hence his understanding.
> 
> I, ah, wrote this about a month ago and just now posted it because I had forgotten about it. Ahaha. And also quite frankly because I'm not too fond of it, but so it goes.

Norrell doesn't notice anything wrong at first. Childermass seems to have recovered very nicely from his wound; he is riding again and does not favor the shoulder.  
  
But something else seems to be happening. Childermass has never been skittish; Norrell admits in the privacy of his own head that that is his own defining characteristic, not Childermass's. But these days he is having a very odd reaction to noises that would once not have troubled him, or at least not visibly.  
  
For instance, one day when Lucas is taking the books off the shelves so that the maids can dust them, and he drops a rather large stack on the floor. Norrell is busy squawking in alarm, and only just notices the way Childermass flinches at the loud thud of the books hitting the floor.  
  
It goes on like that - loud, sudden noises making Childermass flinch or shy or curl his hands into fists. Norrell knows he is not the most observant of men, but he knows Childermass, and he knows this is not normal.  
  
It's some time before he can do anything. But one day in mid-April there is some sort of fireworks display one evening. Norrell is sitting in the library with Mr Lascelles and Childermass, trying to block out the noises to prevent his concentration being disrupted.   
  
It takes him a few minutes to realize that Childermass is on edge. Childermass is good at hiding his reactions, but Norrell has known him for more than twenty years now and he can see these things, sometimes.   
  
He does not want to call attention to it. He is contemplating what to do when the matter is taken from his hands. A particularly loud firework goes off and Childermass drops his pen, rises from his desk, and bolts from the library. It's the least casual movement Norrell has ever seen him make, with panic and fear in every tiny motion of his body.   
  
Lascelles looks up from his work. "What was that? What's wrong with the man?"  
  
Norrell doesn't think Childermass would want Lascelles to know what could be wrong. "Likely he remembered some task he forgot to do," he says carefully. "Something urgent. I - I shall just go and see, shall I?" He rises and hurries from the library after Childermass.  
  
For Norrell knows that look; he has felt it himself often enough. It is very important that Childermass must not be alone for it, or who knows what he may do or think.  
  
Where would he go? Norrell's feet hesitate on the stairs. Then, slowly, he climbs up to Childermass's room and knocks on the door. There is no response, so he pushes at it - it is not latched - and peeks inside.  
  
Childermass is lying on the bed, curled into a ball on his side. Norrell can see no more, but he thinks he might be correct in his assessment, judging by Childermass's posture.  
  
"Childermass. John," he says, quietly. "What is wrong?"  
  
Childermass shakes his head.   
  
"You don't know?"  
  
Childermass nods.  
  
Norrell hesitated. "May I - may I come in?"  
  
After a moment Childermass shrugs.  
  
Norrell steps into the small room and sits down on the edge of the bed. Chilermass's breathing is fast and Norrell, upon close examination, thinks he can see tears in the corner of his eyes, which are squeezed tight shut. When Norrell sits he tenses for a moment, but when Norrell does not move further, he seems to relax a little.  
  
"You became alarmed at a loud noise," begins Norrell.  
  
"I don't want to talk about it," croaks Childermass.  
  
"Very well," says Norrell.   
  
There's a long pause.  
  
"You're not going to push it?"  
  
"I don't see any point if it won't make you calmer."  
  
Chilermass balls his hands into fists. "I don't know what - this has never happened before. It feels awful. I can't catch my breath, I don't understand what's wrong with me."  
  
"You are afraid."  
  
Childermass wheezes a sarcastic laugh. "That much I know."  
  
Norrell sighs. "Breathe, John. As evenly as you can. Concentrate on your breathing. Don't be concerned about why at the moment, if you do not think it will help you calm down. I find it helps to squeeze something." Norrell hesitates, and holds out his hand.  
  
Childermass looks at it and then takes it. He holds onto it very tightly - ordinarily Norrell might complain of the pain, but just at the moment he knows precisely what Childermass is feeling, even if Childermass himself does not, and he does not wish to destabilize the situation any further. So he sits in silence as Childermass breathes in a steady rhythmic pattern, in, out, one, two.  
  
"I just - I thought for a moment I was back there and she had shot me again," say Childermass, finally, his voice tight.   
  
"You aren't," says Norrell, squeezing his hand back. He tries to adopt the same soothing tone Childermass uses with him, although he's aware that he is not very good at it. "You are here and you are safe. Lady Pole is in Yorkshire. You made sure of that yourself."  
  
"I know," says Childermass, "I know I did, but it was…"  
  
"Not rational. I know," says Norrell, making a face. "They don't tend to be, I am afraid."  
  
"Every time I heard the noise it was like it was here again."  
  
"The gun?"  
  
"The gun...the wound, the place where the sky spoke to me." Childermass's nails dig into the free hand of his palm; the hand holding Norrell's squeezes tightly again. "I dream of it."  
  
"Was it so awful?"  
  
"It was...immense." Childermass curls into the sheets. "And the pain. I thought I was going to die." His breathing is picking back up again.  
  
"Slowly, John. You would never have. I forbid it."  
  
Childermass grimaces. "Doesn't work that way, sir."  
  
"It would." This, at least, Norrell is certain of.   
  
"I just - I think of it and it seems to reawaken all of it. As if it will happen all over again, and I will be unable to control it." Childermass squeezes his eyes shut and begins the breathing cycle again, in and out slowly.  
  
Norrell squeezes Childermass's hand, and then says, "She will not shoot you again. You are safe. I will protect you."   
  
Childermass makes a sound that might possibly be a laugh. Norrell would be insulted, but he's too relieved.  
  
"I will," he says. "I  _am_  a magician."  
  
"Aye, sir," says Childermass. He rolls over and looks up at Norrell. The fear in his eyes is slowly draining away; he is relaxing a little. "Aye, you are that."  
  
"And I will keep you safe." Norrell reached out with his other hand to brush a strand of hair from Childermass's face. "You're my servant. She shan't harm you. Who would do my accounts?"  
  
This time it's definitely a laugh. "You could hire Mr Lascelles."  
  
"I do not think he would be amenable to that."  
  
"No. Probably not."   
  
There is a pause. Norrell says, "Has it left you?"  
  
"I think so. Yes. I am sorry you had to see that." Childermass rubs his thumb against the palm of his hand, a sure sign that he's still nervous.  
  
"Well, that is the least logical thing you have said all evening," says Norrell with a sniff. "How many times have you soothed me through some fit of alarm?"  
  
"That's different."  
  
"I do not see why. Do you mean to imply I am weaker than you?" Norrell keeps his gaze stern.  
  
"No," says Childermass, sighing. "Don't think I cannot see what you're doing."  
  
"I have no idea what you are talking about."  
  
Childermass sits up. "All right then," he says. "If you insist, I won't apologise."  
  
"Good. Your energy would be better spent resting, so that you can be back at your usual efficiency as soon as possible." Norrell fidgets with the counterpane; he isn't very good at expressing concern. "I would not like to lose your services," he adds, hoping this conveys what he cannot seem to reach.  
  
Childermass looks at him for a long moment. "Thank you, sir," he says softly.   
  
"And if you should find yourself….if this should happen again, do whatever you need to. To keep yourself in good working condition."  
  
"Yes sir." Childermass takes a deep breath. "I am better now. For the moment, at any rate."  
  
"Perhaps you should rest a little longer. It'll be no good if you go back down only to feel poorly again. Mr Lascelles will remark upon it."  
  
"Of course he will," says Childermass in the tone of dry disdain he seems to reserve for Lascelles. "If it's a question of avoiding him perhaps I'll stay up here a little longer."  
  
"Good. There is nothing urgent that requires your attention." Norrell laces his fingers with Childermass's. "Stay and recover yourself."  
  
"Would you - " Childermass begins and then shakes his head. "Never mind."  
  
Norrell purses his lips. "You know I hate when you do that."  
  
"It's foolish."  
  
"John."  
  
"I was just wondering if you would...stay with me? For a little while?" says Childermass, looking away. "I told you. Forget that I have mentioned it."  
  
"I shall do no such thing. I shall remain until you are feeling yourself again." The tone, when the words leave his mouth, sounds harsh even in his own ears, but he squeezes Childermass's hand, hoping that will soften it.  
  
"Thank you," says Childermass, barely audibly. He leans forward and kisses Norrell, the gentlest of presses, and it is full of things neither of them have said or will say, things that are wordlessly understood. For something so soft it feels very intense; Norrell can feel the weight of the trust behind it. He leans into it and twines his fingers with Childermass's, trying to let this say what he cannot.  
  
When they separate Norrell says, a trifle breathlessly, "There's no need to thank me. It's not a favor. It is the most sensible course of action."  
  
"I see," says Childermass, although he does not sound as though he is fooled. "And perhaps now the most sensible course of action would be for both of us to lie down."  
  
"Yes, I think that would be more comfortable. Just for a little while. Not to sleep."  
  
"No, not to sleep."  
  
Normally, when they lie together, it is with Childermass's arms around Norrell, protecting him. But today, Norrell lays against Childermass's back and wraps his arms around him. He thinks perhaps it will make Childermass feel safer. It does cause Childermass's hair to tickle Norrell's nose, but for the cause, Norrell is willing to put up with this with only a little complaining.  
  
Childermass laughs when he grumbles, so perhaps it is not wasted.  
  
Before long they are settled, and the warmth of Childermass's back is pressing against Norrell's chest. It feels...strangely powerful, this. Having Childermass in his arms. Childermass's breathing is even now, calm, and his hands are steady as they come up to touch Norrell's. Having Childermass back to something approaching normal is a relief, but beyond that… Norrell is small and bookish and not very intimidating, but he does feel as though he is protecting Childermass. As though he would protect Childermass, if anything came to hurt him.  
  
"Thank you, sir," murmers Childermass again, sounding worn out. Norrell knows the exhaustion that comes with a fit of alarm, and hears it in Childermass's voice. He presses a kiss to Childermass's shoulder in lieu of a response.  
  
This, Norrell knows, is not the end of it. Childermass will perhaps have other fits, and Norrell does not know what to do for the nightmares. But he vows quietly to himself to handle this better than he had the gunshot itself. He had been so afraid, then, of losing Childermass, that all his fear had alchemized into anger. But not this time.  
  
They fall asleep curled up there, despite their intentions. Warm and comfortable in Childermass's tiny attic room, shielded, for just a moment, from the world outside, and safe in each other's presence.


End file.
